


The Vigil

by lady_wordsmith



Series: Fire, Faith, and Love (Matt Murdock/Reader) [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discussion of past character death, F/M, Fear, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Matt Murdock, I Don't Even Know, Implied Past... Something, Prayer, Reader-Insert, Romance, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_wordsmith/pseuds/lady_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you get the call from Foggy that Matt is in the hospital, you're worried.<br/>When you hear the words "medically induced coma," you lose all semblance of sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> Useful notes and translations at the bottom as always.

Foggy’s the one who calls you. You’ve just gotten out of an early meeting with one of the lawyers in charge of handling the holdings from your inheritance when your cell phone goes off.

“Hello?” You’re instantly on alert. Foggy almost never calls you on a weekday, and never this early. You haven’t seen Matt since yesterday evening, when the two of you had a quick dinner date and made plans for a long and lazy weekend. “Foggy, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Matt.” He says and your heart is instantly thudding in your chest so loudly and quickly, you have to brace yourself against the nearest building. “I went to get him for work this morning and he was unconscious and barely breathing.”

Foggy sounds deceptively calm, and you fear the worst.

“He’s in the hospital, they said something about brain swelling and having to put him in a medically induced coma-“

“I’ll be there, I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” You tell him.

“Are you-“

“Fifteen minutes, Foggy. I just… Fifteen, okay?”

“Yeah.” And then the call’s over and you’re in movement instantly, on your way.

* * *

 

It was more like twenty, in the end. But Foggy didn’t seem to mind as you gave him an almost bone-crushing hug.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Are the first words out of your mouth. Foggy looks at you incredulously before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“Don’t apologize, okay? I should be apologizing to you, I feel like this wouldn’t have happened if I had gotten there earlier.” He tells you.

“You couldn’t have known, Fog.” You tell him.

The look he gives you speaks volumes. Both of you had known that this could happen, that Matt could be hurt like this, or even worse, and whichever one of you found him would have apologized to the other for not trying hard enough.

Foggy leads you to the waiting room, where you eschew a chair in favor of pacing and leaning against the wall. You hate hospitals; hate the smells of antiseptic and the undercurrent of death. You hate the waiting most of all. Foggy told you that Matt was in surgery now, that he would be put in a medically induced coma to bring down the swelling in his brain. You try not to think of all the things that could happen in surgery as you watch the clock. A brain bleed, an aneurysm, an unexpected complication.

Karen eventually joins the two of you in the waiting room, but even in the presence of Foggy and Karen, you feel alone. Hospitals had a funny way of doing that.

* * *

 

It takes five hours before you get an update. Matt made it through surgery. Now the doctors are playing their own waiting game, having put Matt in the coma to see if they could bring the swelling down even further.

You’re allowed to see Matt in the intensive care unit. Normally, they would only allow you in one or two at a time, but the doctor and nurses allow the three of you to go into the room together. Foggy and Karen are talking to Matt the entire time, telling him that he has to get better, but you only sit in your chair at his bedside, holding his hand.

Eventually Karen and Foggy run out of words and one of them nudges the other, making a lame excuse about getting some food from the hospital cafeteria. They leave you alone, sensing that you’ll only speak to Matt if they’re not there.

You wait for a while after they’re gone, looking at Matt’s face, unsure of what to say. If it weren’t for the bruising on his face and the bandages, you would think he was asleep.

“You can’t leave.” You finally say, and it shocks you, how much your voice doesn’t sound like you. You’re on the edge of tears, but there’s something else in your voice, something that distorts you.

You squeeze Matt’s hand, half-expecting him to squeeze back.

“You can’t leave. It’s not time yet, we still have so much… You need to tell me all your stories and I need to tell you all mine and we need to make a million more stories together and **you can’t leave yet**.” You tell him, the tears falling on your face now. “I don’t care about the rest, about the big stuff you told me about, you can’t leave yet because **we’re** not done, okay, Matt?”

The silence makes your heart clench. You know he’s not going to miraculously wake up but the stillness is still killing you.

“This isn’t how it ends, Murdock. You may have told me you couldn’t promise anything but I’m telling you now; this isn’t how it’s supposed to end. We’re supposed to die together, old and decrepit and barely remembering our names but still as in love as we’ve ever been, okay? We’re supposed to be one of those sickeningly sweet stories of old couples you hear about all the time, rocking chairs side-by-side and shit, and if you leave now, that’s not going to happen and when I get to _Olam Ha-Ba_ I will kick your ass so hard you will feel it in **every** possible dimension.”

You hear a snort of laughter from behind you and look up. It’s Foggy, standing at the doorway to Matt’s hospital room.

“Sorry,” he says. “That’s just too good not to laugh at.”

“Where’s Karen?” you ask as Foggy settles into the chair on Matt’s other side.

“Making a call to our morning clients to let them know there’s a personal matter and we need to reschedule.” You nod and bite your lip, looking at Matt’s face.

“How much did you hear?” you ask, trying for a smile and failing.

“Just the part from the rocking chairs. And really, I figured the two of you for more of a porch swing type of people.”

You laugh at Foggy’s attempt at a joke, but you feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“It’s funny, I told him once that the other stuff-“ and Foggy gives you a nod at this. He knows you mean Daredevil. “It didn’t matter. And it doesn’t, at least not like how I thought. I knew he got into some rough territory at times, I’ve **seen** it. But this…”

“He’s going to be fine.” Foggy tells you. “The coma’s just-“

“A precaution, I know.” You say, as Karen enters the room and you turn your head to greet her.

Karen looks worried, visibly so. More than Foggy, definitely; and maybe more than you look, at least on the outside. On the inside, it feels like your skin is itching with the need to scream at the doctors to do something, anything. You’re lost in that feeling you thought you’d forgotten. Hopelessness, helplessness.

“Is there anything we can do?” you hear Karen ask. You’re unsure of what she means.

“Doctors said it’s a waiting game.” Foggy says, but both his and Karen’s eyes are on you.

“Stop staring at me.” You tell them finally. **It’s not the first time I’ve sat in a hospital chair and wondered if someone in my life was going to leave again without so much as a goodbye** , you think but don’t say.

Fuck, your life could be a modern day Dickens novel. You’d have to ask Matt if he ever thought the same thing about his own life if he woke up.

No, when. Not if.

“We’re just worried about you.” Karen says. You know she means it. That doesn’t make it sound better.

“I’m as well as I can be under the circumstances. Which is to say, worried out of my fucking mind. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. In a day I’ll be bitching at him to wake up. If nothing changes, I swear to God I will start on prayers, Murdock. In Hebrew. And not in that pretty way, either, in that way that sounds like hissing snakes.” You address this last bit to Matt.

In spite of themselves, Karen and Foggy laugh.

“If you guys want to leave, go ahead. I can stay and call if anything changes.” You tell them. “You two have a law firm to run.”

“You have translations to do.” Foggy fires back.

“Nothing that’s due for a month, at least.” You smirk even though you don’t feel like it. “The benefits of being a trust fund baby. You can be choosy about work. Double that when your translation work is almost universally lauded.”

Foggy looks like he wants to argue, but Karen seems to understand.

“You’ll call?” she asks.

“I’ll even let you come back and take the evening shift of watching over him. He needs something other than my bitching once in a while.” You smile. “The man might get bored.”

It takes a while and a bit of back-and-forth, but Karen and Foggy finally leave you alone with Matt. You take his hand again, glancing at the machine keeping track of his vitals.

“You know, if you wanted a rest, there’s less dramatic ways to get one.” You say.

* * *

 

You’re sure that if he were awake, Matt would be bored with your steady stream of monologue. Or he’d be shutting you up with tactile methods. Either way, you keep talking, because you know what they say, that people in comas can hear you, and you’re sure he can.

“You know, I’ve always hated the whole hospital bedside vigil thing. Ever since I was a kid. Did I ever tell you that, Matt?” you ask, as if he could answer. “Of course not. That would involve telling you about why, and every time I even hint at the accident, you feel bad about getting me to mention it. It wasn’t that tragic, you know. I barely remember it.”

You pause and sigh.

“Well, no time like the present. You’re basically a captive audience.” You look at his face again, looking for any trace of emotion. You know you won’t find it. “Lighten up, _liebling_. Look at it as a chance to not let your Catholic guilt get in the way of couple bonding.

“So. Hospital vigils. Uh, the accident. So I’ve told you the worst I got was a concussion, which is the shittiest thing to a five year old, I guess. I didn’t get death yet. I didn’t understand that my mom and two of my brothers were dead. My dad was still alive; did I ever tell you that?”

You want to tell yourself to stop asking questions like he could answer, but you can’t help it.

“So, uh, yeah. Dad was still alive for a while. I remember that _Oma_ and _Opa_ brought me down to see him once or twice. I just thought he was asleep, you know? And who the fuck brings a five year to a hospital ward to basically watch their father die? Kind of fucked up. But I don’t know, my grandparents weren’t thinking and there was a lot of shit going on, on several fronts that I didn’t understand at the time.”

You sigh.

“Uh, they- the doctors- had told my grandparents that their son, my father, was brain dead. There’s no real- aw, fuck. This is hard to talk about, now I get why you stop me every time.” You say, wiping away an errant tear.

“So, Jews. We argue a lot. That’s not a joke or stereotype, we do. So when I say there’s no real consensus about what constitutes death in Judaism, I mean it. Some say brain death is acceptable, some will only accept it if the heart stops beating, don’t even get me started on whether organ donation is okay in those instances… I know this isn’t strictly a Jewish thing but it’s really a sticking point with us, I guess. Second quickest way to start an argument.

“So, my grandparents were a lot more… I was raised Reform, but my grandparents were part of a Conservative temple before I came to live with them. Remind me to tell you **that** story later. So, the temple they belonged to, it only accepted the heart stopping as the definition of death. Dad was brain dead, but his heart still beat. This started this whole thing between the hospital and my grandparents, this court case. It ended up not being resolved in the end because Dad’s heart finally stopped beating just as they were getting ready to go to trial.”

You pause, taking a deep breath and continuing on. “Uh, Foggy told me that you guys had discussed the case in law school as part of a class. I don’t know how much about it you knew before, or if you knew that was my dad, but there you go. Now you can stop getting weird about the accident, if that was your issue. I didn’t really know any of that was going on back then. I found out later, the way I did with a lot of stuff. And I’m okay with it. That was never… my thing with the accident. And it’s still not totally my thing with hospitals.”

You stop talking then, for a while. You read the newspaper a nurse had given you, looking over at Matt ever so often to see if there’s a change. At one point, you’re fairly sure he’s in pain and call a nurse over, who promises to see about upping Matt’s medication dosages.

“Thank you,” you tell the nurse, who pats your shoulder with a smile and leaves you alone.

You turn back to Matt and settle into your chair. “One good thing about you being unconscious. You can’t go into a speech about how you don’t need painkillers.”

* * *

 

You let Foggy and Karen take over for the night, but not before giving Matt’s hand one final squeeze.

“I’m going now. You’re probably tired of me.” You tell Matt. “Foggy and Karen are back, though. I’ll see you when visiting hours start again in the morning, I promise.” You lean close to his ear, even though you know Foggy and Karen wouldn’t care about you saying it. “I love you, Matt, okay?”

You don’t go home right away when you leave. You go to a diner and order a cup of coffee and a plate of French fries with gravy, because you know if you attempt to cook tonight, your hands will shake and you’ll probably burn the apartment now.

Your phone chirps. It’s a text from your friend, Lizbeth. The text was simple: **Heard your attorney boyfriend was in the hospital. You need anything?**

You know that’s an offer to get you drunk. Lizbeth and her husband are always good for alcohol in a crisis, but you’re not feeling it this time. After you send her a text back to decline, your phone rings. It’s your old friend Raviv.

“I take it you heard.” You say as an answer.

“Are you okay, sparrow?” the old nickname makes you bite your lip, and you can feel the burn of tears behind your eyelids. “Are you safe being alone right now?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” You answer honestly. Raviv and his husband have been there for you since high school. You know he remembers your lowest moments, and those long hospital vigils.

“Where are you, sparrow? Tam and I can-“

“Let me eat first, okay? Meet me at my apartment in an hour?” you ask.

Raviv agrees, but only lets you off the phone after you make a litany of promises that yes, you’re okay right now and will make it to your apartment safely.  You finish your meal and pay, quickly sending a text to Raviv that you’re on your way to your apartment. You know if you don’t, he and Tam will both worry, and the last thing you need is two hysterical gay Jews at your doorstep.

You take the subway to your apartment. Raviv and Tam are already waiting in front of your apartment building when you walk up. Tam immediately hugs you, and you almost collapse into it, feeling boneless.

“I’m… He was… I…” and now the tears are going full bore down your face as Tam gently takes your keys from you and hands them to Raviv. The two of them take care to bring you to your apartment, Tam leading you to your couch as Raviv locks your door.

Raviv sits beside you on the couch and gives you his own hug, which you lean into in relief. He pulls away, only to hug you again.

“From Razi, since she can’t be here.” He tells you, reminding you of his sister and your best friend, who’s living in Israel at the moment.

“Tell her thank you.” You say. Raviv nods.

It’s quiet for a while after that. Despite your protest that you’ve eaten, Tam heads to your kitchen to cook, while Raviv wraps you in a blanket.

“What do you need?” Raviv asks you.

You’re silent for a second, thinking. You know what he’s asking. “Comfort. Hope. I don’t know, Ravi.”

He nods, takes a breath, and begins reciting an appropriate prayer. Once you recognize it, you silently follow along, mouthing the words.

“Hear my cry, O _HaShem_ ; attend unto my prayer. From the end of the earth will I call unto Thee, when my heart fainteth; lead me to a rock that is too high for me. For Thou hast been a refuge for me, a tower of strength in the face of the enemy. I will dwell in Thy Tent for ever; I will take refuge in the covert of Thy wings.”

You smile at Raviv as the two of you finish. “Thank you, Ravi.”

“Least I could do. At least all that study was good for something, huh?” he says, which makes you laugh for the first time today.

Tam comes in, telling you he’s making chicken soup as he sits in one of your chairs.

“So what happened to him?” Tam asks.

Your heart races. You can’t tell them about Matt and Daredevil.

“They don’t know.” You say finally. “His best friend found him unconscious before work. Some kind of brain swelling, but they won’t know more until… until…”

The tears hit you again, and Raviv hugs you while shooting his husband a glare.

“It’s alright, sparrow. He’ll be okay. How could he not when he’s got a queen like you waiting?” Raviv comforts you.

“He’s right. I’m sorry. I should have been more delicate.” Tam says. “He’ll be fine, sparrow.”

“I know, I know. I just… I couldn’t get it out of my head today.” You say, slipping out of Raviv’s hug. “Besides, the coma’s only precautionary. I **know** that, in my head. Just seeing him like that… It’s hard, that’s all.”

Your two friends reassure you again, and get to the business of feeding you and putting you to bed, telling you that they’ll be asleep in one of the guest rooms.

Once the door to your room is closed, you run your finger along the sheets on your bed, the ones you bought for Matt.

“Come home,” you whisper. “Come home to me.”

* * *

The first two days after that are the worst. There’s no change in Matt’s condition at all. You prayed fervently by his bedside, not caring if Foggy and Karen were there to hear. Eventually, they joined in, holding your hands in theirs as you prayed every prayer you knew.

“Eternal God, You abide though all things change. We are anxious and fearful, and we turn our hearts to You, looking to You and leaning on Your strength. It is written: Blessed is the one whose strength is in You. Bless us now with faith and courage. Help us to feel that You are with us, steadying and sustaining us with the assurance that we are loved. Be with us and bring us hope, that in the days to come, our aspirations may be fulfilled for our good and the good of those we love who depend on us. Banish our fears with the sense that you are always present, to uphold and sustain us, as it is written: Have no fear, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with the power of My righteousness. Amen.” You said that prayer holding Matt’s hand in one of yours as Foggy sat beside you and held your other one. Karen had joined your prayer circle, too, holding Matt’s other hand and Foggy’s.

You took a deep breath and let go of Foggy’s hand, but keep holding Matt’s. “You don’t have to humor me.” You tell them.

“If the situation was flipped and you were in that bed, Matt would be praying and we would be here with him doing the same thing.” Karen reminds you. Foggy murmurs a sound of agreement.

“I just… I feel lost. Sometimes it helps. Thank you, both of you.” Foggy gives you a hug as Karen reaches across the other side of Matt’s bed to grip your hand.

“You better wake up soon, Matt. I give her a day before she busts out the Hebrew.” Foggy says in Matt’s direction, which earns little laughs from you and Karen.

On the third day, a nurse told you that while they were still keeping Matt in the coma for a few more days, he was showing progress as the brain swelling was down.

You had smiled as you took your place at Matt’s bedside. “You better keep this up, _liebling_. I’ve spent so much time worrying that I may go grey. We don’t want that, do we?”

Matt was more agitated that day, it seemed. He moved restlessly even in his coma. The nurses told you that it was normal, a good sign. You knew he wasn’t in pain the way he had been the first day; you knew the signs of Matt in pain and this agitation wasn’t it.

He was fighting his way back. You knew it.

“ _B'yado afkid ruche, b'et ishan v'a'irah. V'im ruchi g'viyati, Adonai li v'lo ira_.” You whispered as Matt shifted restlessly. “A free lesson, Matt. Don’t be afraid. I’m here, and so is _HaShem_. I never told you that did I, the names for God and how we use them out of respect? I know I flip-flop on it a lot, but it’s hard to explain to a non-Jew. A lot of things are hard to explain, but you’re so patient with me even when I fumble with it. You always want to know, the same way I want to know about how Catholics do things. That’s what I love about us, the way we share our faiths but don’t push them on the other.”

You take Matt’s hand in yours and kiss his fingertips. This action seems to settle him a little.

“I want you to know I’m waiting for you, and I’ll wait however long I have to.” You tell him. “And I want you to know that I love you. I know that that never needs saying, but I’m saying it now so you can hear it and remember, because I know you can hear me.”

You sat with him for a while, just holding Matt’s hand as he twitched and shuddered.

“So my brother had the nerve to ask me about you.” You say finally. “Well, my sister-in-law did, because, y’know, still being punished for letting a Catholic cum in my pussy and ruining the sanctity of my Jewish vagina.” You swear Matt twitches and lets out a hiss in such a way it sounds like a response. “Oh, hush, _liebling_. You know that’s all it is with him. You were good enough to have as a professional contact, maybe even a friend, but a Catholic brother-in-law is unthinkable to him. Funny, because he’s been asked to leave at least one temple for behaviors that border on blasphemous, and that was the temple I **still** attend, and I’ve told you how permissive they are.”

Matt stills, and you pause and watch him, how now it looks peaceful. Before, it had looked ominous.

“Anyway, they asked about you. She actually had the nerve to say to me ‘ _Zol er krenken un gedenken_.’ Can you believe that? They have no right to say that about you. So I told her ‘ _Im Wörterbuch unter 'grotesk' stehen Deine Titten_.’ And once again, you have no idea what I’m saying, but you know it’s filthy, and that the thing about you they said would probably piss you off.” You say, rubbing your thumb against the knuckles of Matt’s hand.

“A day, maybe two, do you think, Matt? Would that be enough rest, and then I can tell you everything I said?” you ask. “You can’t stay like this forever. It’s not about the city, as much as you feel you need to do what you do and I support it. It’s about us.”

You keep stroking his knuckles, trying to put it to words.

“So, this friend of mine, Raviv, he almost became a rabbi once before things got messy. Anyway, he was explaining to me about the Jewish concept of soulmates once when we were younger and he was still studying. Uh, there’s a word. _Bashert_. It means destiny, literally, in Yiddish. We use it to mean soulmates, and more specifically _basherte_ for a female soulmate and _basherter_ for a male soulmate.” You tell Matt. “It’s not in the _tanakh_ , but it’s in some rabbinic literature somewhere, about a Roman matron who claimed she could arrange marriages herself without _HaShem_ after a rabbi told her _HaShem_ arranges all marriages. So the matron, she does her thing and arranges couples out of her slaves, but the next day they come to her, every single one of them, with complaints. So the matron was forced to admit the rabbi was right about marriage being an arrangement of the divine.”

You chuckle lightly, remembering the way Raviv would tell the tale with much more flourish that you were providing Matt with.

“So what I’m getting at here is that you can’t leave. I firmly believe in all that I just told you, about _bashert_ and soulmates. And I think you’re mine, Matt, in spite of everything. No path is easy, but you and I, together? You need to wake up so we can take all that life throws at us. We weren’t brought together like this so you could leave now.”

* * *

 

It’s somewhere between the fifth and sixth day that Foggy calls you as you sleep. You panic at first; your mind drifting to all the scenarios that could happen that would necessitate a late night call, and fear the worst.

But no, Foggy tells you that Matt has woken up from his coma all on his own, despite still being weaned off the drugs that doctors used to induce the coma in the first place. He tells you that they said that Matt will still be in intensive care for a day or two, and then a regular ward before being discharged.

“You and I both know the second he can stand he’s checking out against medical advice, Foggy.” You tell him flatly, which makes Foggy laugh.

“That’s why I’m relying on you to talk to him tomorrow morning. If you can’t convince him to stay in the hospital, at least convince him to stay at your place, so you can keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll do my best.” You tell Foggy.

The next morning, the nurses greet you with obvious irritation. Matt, they tell you, has been a less than gracious patient ever since waking. You offer them a sympathetic smile and apology before striding to Matt’s room, making sure your heels give an even, ominous series of clicks as you approach.

Matt gives you a smile as you stand in the doorway, but it quickly fades upon noticing that you’re not approaching his bedside. He can feel the anger rolling off of you in waves.

“I did **not** sit vigil at your bedside for **five** damn days so that you could wake up and be a complete and utter **dickcannon** , Matthew Michael Murdock!” you hiss. “You owe every single one of those nurses an apology.”

“But-“

“ _Niddah_. I swear to _HaShem_.”

You stand there glowering at him as Matt calls over the nurses and apologizes.  When he’s done and the last of them leave, you allow your face to go neutral as you sit in the bedside chair and look Matt over. Parts of his face are still bandaged, but the bruises are fading.

“Just for that, when you leave the hospital, you’re staying with me. So I can keep an eye on you.” You tell him.

Matt nods, which surprises you, and you raise an eyebrow.

“For scaring you this much, it’s the least I can do.” He tells you. “I, uh, heard. When you were talking to me. I’m sorry. For a lot of things.”

“My fear of hospital bedside vigils isn’t your fault, Matt. Besides, if you were paying attention to the other stuff-“

“I was. I heard… just about everything, I think.” He tells you, which makes you nod.

“Good. Then I don’t have to embarrass myself by explaining _bashert_ twice.” You say, which makes Matt smile.

“Did you mean that?” he asks.

“Well, it’s true-“

“I know it’s true, but did you **mean** it?” he asks, reaching for your hand. Thumbs stroking knuckles, emotional shorthand.

“Yes, I did. I wouldn’t have told you at all if I didn’t believe it.” You tell him. “I may have been panicking and having a personal crisis, but I’m not going to tell you things like that if I didn’t believe in them that way.”

“Good.” Matt lies back on his hospital bed, still holding your hand. “You’re still going to have to translate all that other stuff, though.”

You frown, but can’t help laughing all the same. He may not be back in fighting shape yet, but Matt is awake, and for that, you’re infinitely thankful.

**Author's Note:**

> - _Olam Ha-Ba_ : Hebrew, lit. "The world to come." Jews believe in an afterlife, but there's not much said about it in dogma, and no heaven or hell as such, because Jews tend to focus on the present, here and now, rather than worry about what's to come (probably why all the good insults involve the ground as a metaphor for death). For more info, you can check [here](http://www.jewfaq.org/olamhaba.htm).  
> -"And not in that pretty way, either, in that way that sounds like hissing snakes.": There's different ways to pronounce Hebrew words, depending on syllable emphasis and how words are transliterated over. No one way is better than the other, but some Jewish people will tell you differently (I say, looking over my shoulder to make sure my grandmother hasn't risen from her grave to beat me with a rug beater for making that suggestion).  
> - _liebling_ : "beloved" or "darling" in German. You're going to see this a lot now, Matt has officially crossed the foreign nickname threshold.  
> - _Oma_ and _Opa_ : See [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6256051#work_endnotes).  
> -The circumstances the Reader Character gives of her father's passing are very, _very_ loosely based on an actual case, that of [Mordechai Dov Brody](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordechai_Dov_Brody). While the circumstances are different, the essence of the issue, that of the definition of death, is the same.  
>  -"Sparrow": the English version of the Reader Character's childhood nickname. Told you it wasn't embarrassing.  
> -The prayer Raviv and the Reader Character recite is actually verses 2-5 from Psalm 61.  
> - _HaShem_ : one of many names Jews use for G-d, this one means "The Name" in Hebrew, and is the most often used (that I've seen, anyway).  
> -The prayer the Reader Character recites in the hospital can be found [here](http://www.reformjudaism.org/practice/prayers-blessings/time-anxiety).  
> - _B'yado afkid ruche, b'et ishan v'a'irah. V'im ruchi g'viyati, Adonai li v'lo ira._ : Hebrew, roughly translates to "To Him I commit my spirit, in the time of sleep and awakening, even if my spirit leaves, G-d is with me, I shall not fear." From a song called "Adon Olam."  
> - _Zol er krenken un gedenken._ : Yiddish for "Let him suffer, and remember." Not a big insult out of context, but since Matt's in a coma and the Reader Character's estranged family is saying it... In my family, teeth have been lost for less.  
> - _Im Wörterbuch unter 'grotesk' stehen Deine Titten._ : German, "Under 'grotesque' in the dictionary, there's a photo of your tits." Not the best comeback to the above, but I imagine exchanging witticisms was not high on the list of priorities.  
> - _bashert, basherte_ and _basherter_ : pretty well explained in the text above, the Jewish concept of soulmates.  
> -Related to the above, the story related by the Reader Character is in some rabbinical literature (that I can't remember for the life of me where, but I remember the story itself. Hand puppets improve memory, okay?), and is used to illustrate the concept of soulmates.  
> - _Niddah_ : See [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6449029#work_endnotes).


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